The Artist
by Quillinx
Summary: Elsa expresses herself to Anna in the only way she can- through her ice powers. Ficlet, set after the accident and before their parents' death.


**i just watched disney's ****_frozen _****and oh my god i am so in love with this movie you have no idea. q w q;**

**and also i have no idea where this little ficlet thing came from x"D**

**it happens after anna's accident and before the death of their parents.**

* * *

Elsa peeped over the top of her covers, then slipped out from under the cool white sheets, not shivering despite the draft issuing from the open window. Outside, moonlight glimmered gently on the snowy landscape, all rounded edges and soft contours. She breathed a little easier, knowing that at least in the winter, any slip-ups would be less noticeable.

She crept to the door, her hands shaking in nervousness, and despite the protective gloves that sheathed her delicate hands, a thin coating of ice covered the doorknob as she turned it with an alarmingly loud _click._ Hurriedly, she glanced around, making sure the hallway was perfectly deserted, before sliding through the cracked door and padding silently down the hall.

Anna's door was further down the hall. Carefully, Elsa placed a cautious hand on the door before pushing it open. She knew that trusting Anna slept with her door unlocked. She could hear her sister's soft snores as she entered the room.

Anna slept peacefully, a slight figure underneath the covers, with only her flaming red hair standing out. It was spread over the pillow, and Elsa couldn't help but notice the one pale strand among the fiery red. Holding her breath, she tiptoed past her younger sister, alarmed at how much Anna seemed to have grown. Had it really been this long since she had had a proper look at her?

The window opened easily, to Elsa's relief, and the glass pane swung inwards into the room, letting a breath of cold air come with it. Elsa felt Anna stir and mumble a snatch of song in her sleep, but the young girl didn't wake. Quickly, Elsa turned back to the window, slipping off one of her gloves. The feeling of her bare skin against the fresh air felt guilty.

She took a deep breath and pressed her fingers against the cold glass. After a few moments, the familiar glow of her magic began to glimmer around the spot she had touched, delicate arcs of ice appearing as slowly as a newborn butterfly's wings unfold. Carefully, Elsa moved her fingers along the glass, letting the fanciful designs play out into a wild creation of patterns. The frost crackled as it spread along the window and danced with its own tiny lights. Elsa paused, surveying her creation.

Even more carefully, she slid the other glove off, and using both hands she moved them in the air as if shaping a clay doll. The ice molecules on the glass began reforming into shapes, shapes that Elsa knew as well as if she had been born with them implanted into her head. Just the faintest outline of a slender face, a pointed chin, and braided hair. And the wide, trusting eyes.

She stood back, suddenly appalled at what she had done. Hurriedly, she scrabbled for her gloves, shoving them onto the wrong hands in her haste. Somehow frightened that she would regret her impulsive decision, she backed away, closing the window so that the icy patterns would stay on the outside. Taking a last glance at the sleeping figure in the bed, she fled the room.

* * *

The next morning, Elsa stayed in bed, drawing the covers up to her nose and pretending to be asleep as she heard the familiar footsteps that signaled the arrival of her parents.

"Elsa?" her mother said, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Would you care to explain the "fairy pictures" that Anna claims she found on her window this morning?"

Elsa opened her eyes tentatively and blinked up at the faces of the queen and king.

"I'm sorry," she whispered miserably, pulling on the edges of her gloves under the covers. "I just…" She paused. "I just wanted to make her happy."

She saw her father and mother look at each other with that familiar sad expression on their faces.

"Just don't let it happen again," said her father finally. "And remember-"

"-conceal it, don't feel it," Elsa dully recited, sinking back into the sheets. She watched her parents leave the room and tried her best to conceal, not to feel, the hurt.


End file.
